


Nowhereland

by nightfever (drfeels)



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Frottage, Grinding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 11:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11207478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drfeels/pseuds/nightfever
Summary: Hyoga takes Ikki for a drive to the middle of nowhere, perhaps with different intentions than what Ikki thinks.





	Nowhereland

**Author's Note:**

> Happy super super late Birthday, you Aries asshole.

Hyoga drives how he fights, nearly obeying the rules but also with a lack of thought that becomes more apparent with each stop sign they “accidentally” blow through.

Heat sticks the back of his arms to the faux leather seat covers, makes beads of sweat run down the nape of his neck, sweat that cools into icy little pinpoints that make his skin prickle when Hyoga rolls down the windows as they hit 95 kmh. The wind begins to roar, so loud the radio ceases to provide any entertainment and just further adds to the rush of garbled noise in Ikki’s ears. 

Hot, but the back of his neck makes him shiver and the rush of wind against his upper arms brings out the gooseflesh. He doesn’t remember where they’re driving, but Hyoga’s passed the Tokyo city limits long ago and kept going, endlessly. Just packed up and off into forever, boxes and cloths in the trunk, two water bottles rolling around in the back seat.

Ikki is beginning to question this entire idea. A drive. He’d thought Hyoga meant something easy, maybe to the sea. It’s been at least thirty minutes in the exact opposite direction of the sea. Maybe more. They’re heading out of the city, where he knows there’s nothing. Nowhereland.

That’s what he’s always called it in his head.

It’s another thirty minutes before Hyoga’s duck-shaped keychain, a birthday gift from Shun the past year, swings wildly against the ignition as Hyoga takes a sharp left across two empty traffic lanes into a dusty industrial lot. It looks like a power grid, but long-abandoned, with black, worn-out cables swaying overhead in the breeze. 

“This isn’t anywhere.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Hyoga rolls his eyes and digs one of the bottles of water off the floor. Must’ve been the sharp left that catapulted it there. He uncaps it, takes several long draughts. When he pulls back his lips are shining and wet and he sighs and sinks deep into the driver’s seat.

“Are we…going to get back on the road?” 

“No.”

He’s a little annoyed. More than a little. Hyoga had dragged him into the car with the idea they were actually going _somewhere_ , to do _something_.

This is nonsense. A waste of his time.

Hyoga’s never not wasting his time, really.

He peels his arms off the back of the seat and grabs the other water bottle off the back floor. He curses this entire wasted day as he sucks half of it down. Hyoga can’t drive, Hyoga can’t navigate, Hyoga doesn’t even _want_ to navigate. They could have both spent this time doing literally anything else, anything at all.

Beads of sweat start to build up on his nape again. He glances in irritation at Hyoga, who doesn’t even look touched by the heat. His bangs are still dry on his forehead, the only place on his face gleaming and slick are his still-wet lips. Even his cheeks don’t have the slightest heat flush to them. His lips do, a garish streak in the center of his face.

Red, bright red.

Those eyes turn on him. The coldest thing in the heat, that bright blue color.

Looking at it makes him shiver. All the way from the crown of his head down to the base of his spine. The gooseflesh rises again on his arms, the back of his neck where the sweat drips. His heart begins to beat too fast. Instinct, this is instinct. There’s something in those eyes.

Hyoga takes another sip of water, but his eyes don’t move.

“Stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

Another sip.

“Yes you are, just start the damn car already and take us home.”

“No.”

Another sip.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because,” Hyoga says. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

The bottle is empty. He tosses it on the floor.

“We can do that at the house.”

He’s getting ready to smash his fist into the dashboard, kick the door off its hinges, seize his cloth from the trunk and walk. He reaches for the handle. Hyoga’s hand is reaching, too, he sees it from the corner of his eye. He prepares himself for Hyoga to hit the lockpin so it stays shut, or to suddenly shift into gear and hit the gas so Ikki smacks his head on the dash.

Hyoga’s hand lands on his thigh.

It’s burning hot, even through his jeans he can feel the hot pulse of Hyoga’s blood in his fingertips.

“Ikki,” he says softly. “I didn’t know how else to get you to take me seriously.”

“You can start by not trapping me in a car.”

“I just—“ he says, and for a second there’s a flash of the part of himself Hyoga wants to desperately pretend doesn’t exist, the part that’s good at second-guessing, soft and sweet. Those eyes waver. Not thick sheets of ice, but the shimmering, wavering surface of a rockpool at high tide. “I wanted somewhere where you couldn’t run away.”

“I don’t run away,” he says, even if he knows that’s not entirely true, but in the sense of semantics, it is. 

He’s not a coward.

His fingers dig deep into the meat of Ikki’s thigh and curl inward. It hurts. Hyoga has a grip like iron and a gaze like steel, but his heart is soft and malleable like gold. Golden boy. Just like his hair.

He leans in closer, and they lock gazes. “Don’t run away,” he says, and his voice wavers for just a moment on that last syllable. 

Ikki wants to say something biting, something about how he would never and how Hyoga is the coward here, but he can’t. He can’t because Hyoga’s kissing him, soft wet lips in bright red meet his own, chapped by heat and sun. He can’t because Hyogas not a coward, cowards don’t kiss like this. Cowards don’t slide their hands up his thighs and over his waistband of his jeans and under his shirt.

Hyoga’s tongue dips between his lips and traces over his teeth and the soft walls of his cheeks. He hears a click and suddenly the seat gives out under his back and it’s reclining, he’s slowly falling backwards. Hyoga has one leg over the console and then suddenly he pushes up and over and sits himself on Ikki’s thighs and he can feel it. He can feel the blood pooling between his legs, and something rising between Hyoga’s own, rubbing against him.

His hands are still burning as they slide up under Ikki’s t-shirt, into the dips and curves of his muscles. Hyoga circles and tweaks at his nipple with just two fingers, but it’s enough to make him gasp and there’s a twinge of pain but also something more under it, something stronger. Hyoga does it again and he gives a small jerk under him in the seat.

Hyoga has him pinned here, he realizes, he can do anything he likes, anything at all.

He also realizes he’s more aroused at the idea of that than annoyed.

His own hands begin to move, and he drops the water bottle he’s long forgotten he’s still been holding. Hyoga’s wearing a tight blue t-shirt that peels from him like a second skin, and underneath is a study in anatomy. His muscles ripple when his waist moves and shifts to get a more comfortable position on Ikki’s lap. He undoes his button and zipper on his jeans once he’s done shifting his waist, then reaches down for Ikki’s too. Ah, it’s tight, he didn’t realize how tight it was until Hyoga frees that button from the hole and slides the zipper down. 

His hands come out from under Ikki’s shirt to steady the weight of his body. They rest on either side of Ikki’s head, sticky against the faux leather seat covers. His hips begin to shift and his head dips low and his breathing is loud in Ikki’s ear, like the roar of the wind, but hot and the undercurrent noise of the radio is Hyoga’s low moan and his skin prickles in an entirely different way.

He realizes under the trembling and grinding of Hyoga’s hips he’s beginning to wet through the front of his own underwear. Hyoga grinds with the full weight of his body against a spot that’s entirely too raw and sensitive and his thighs shake and he can feel Hyoga grin in his ear. He can’t see it, but he feels it, he feels those shining red lips pull back into a thin, arrogant smile.

Now is not the time for arrogance.

He drags his hands down Hyoga’s sides to cup him from the back, takes control of Hyoga’s grinding hips, presses them harder until nothing can get between them except slick, hot sweat that forms as their stomachs press together. Hyoga’s briefs have begun to ride down at the waistband and he feels the soft, damp curls there as they rub against the lower part of his belly.

Hyoga grunts, raises his head and sits up to get better leverage. For the first time since all of this, they lock gazes again. Hyoga’s cheeks are blooming red, the flush of heat and arousal. His blonde hair glints in the late afternoon sun, stuck to his forehead, and his whole body is covered in a gleaming sheen of sweat.

He looks beautiful.

He’s never thought that before about Hyoga, or anyone, but now he finds himself thinking it.  
Beautiful. Golden boy.

Hyoga’s lips come down on his again. Together, they move, and the friction of Hyoga’s hips against the head of his erection is sweet. It gets sweeter with each rocking motion, there’s heat building in his guts and a boiling of his blood. 

He’s seen heaven. The state of Nirvana, so they call it. Shaka had let him fall through there, once. Bliss, a white-hot light that obliterates the brain, that is Nirvana, the easiest of the six worlds to fall from. One taste leaves you drooling, unable to comprehend, unable to live again without striving for that numbing pleasure. He’s seen Nirvana, and compared to this, that is nothing.

Compared to the way Hyoga rolls his hips against him, there is no other Nirvana than this one, and no other Gods. There is just him and Hyoga in the passenger seat of this old beat-up sedan, writhing together.

Sweetness and boiling heat numbs them both as first Ikki finds himself coming under Hyoga’s rolling hips, and then a moment later Hyoga is next, thighs trembling against Ikki’s stomach, hands losing all energy to hold himself up anymore. He moans and arches his back and then collapses against Ikki, stomach to stomach, both their underwear now sweat-soaked and sticky, but both of them too satisfied to care.

Hyoga finally pushes himself off Ikki’s lap and swings his leg back over the console. He rolls into the drivers’ seat, buttons up his jeans, turns his keys, which are still stuck in the ignition. The radio starts to life again, turned down to a volume at which it’s just background noise. He revs the engine.

“So,” he says, shifting the car into gear, “since we’re in the middle of nowhere, should I head back home, or should we keep driving until we find somewhere to spend the night?”

His throat is dry. He peels himself off the seat and grabs his water bottle from where it landed on the floor, takes a gulp of water that’s now warm. Hyoga hits him again with that gaze like steel, his grip like iron on the wheel. He hands over what’s left of his water bottle, and Hyoga drains it in one swift gulp. His lips shine again, but now they’re swollen. He licks over his own lips with his tongue, finds them the same.

He buttons up his jeans, shifts uncomfortable in the sticky mess his underwear has become. His back is soaked with sweat against the seat.

“You know,” he says to Hyoga.

Just that. Hyoga can’t make him say it. He won’t, he’s not a coward, but he’s not going to play into this hand, either. 

Hyoga smiles, and his gold hair shines in the slow-setting sun. He pulls out of the lot and takes another sharp left onto the back road, farther away from the city limits and the steel skyscrapers of Tokyo, on backroads full of nothing and no-one. 

Together, they head out further into nowhere.


End file.
